1944
by Colossus1985
Summary: We have seen what Marvel would be in 1602. Now we see what todays characters could have been in 1944. Would heros be heros? Would old allies remain? Or would the home countries of our beloved characters make the most steadfast friends into the worst enemies? For mother and country indeed...
1. A Storm Brewing

Chapter I

A Storm Brewing

A lone man stood at the edge of their encampment, eyes focused on the enemy. This was a new war, a different kind of war. There were no trenches or chemical weapons, the nightmares and horror stories that had come from the Great War. No, this was more brutal some how. Killing was becoming a science, new weapons and vehicles threatened the common man by the thousands on this new battlefield.

The tall man squinted as he tried to focus on the milling of the enemy mere miles away. They were coming for his capitol. He was here to stop them. He had every intention of doing it all by himself. You see this new war had been going badly for his people. Then the winter came and they thought all would be right, that they could turn back the fascists. They were wrong. The wall that was the Russian winter, the quagmire that made Bonaparte tuck his tail and run, had failed them. You see the fascists had brought a new weapon the Stalingrad. Because of this despite the best efforts or men like Zaytsev, the Nazi's had rolled through. They did so because there was a man no bullet could find.

Without feeling the cold the man further wrapped his jacket around him, more an absent minded action of comfort than actually doing him any good. He thought about the man he may have to face soon. You see when the Germans had changed the game, when they brought the Queen into play and knocked all their Pawns down, the Russians did some searching and came up with their own answer. They brought out their own super soldiers. They decided to show the Germans they were indeed not the master race, that they had men far superior to the Germans. The pinnacle of their search was this man.

A soldier runs up to the man with a frozen glove wrapped around a dispatch. *"Comrade Rasputin! Stalin sends word directly! Do not delay!" The soldier quaked as Rasputin stood, unmoving in the wind. He stood a full foot and a half over the soldier who himself was quite tall at six feet. Rasputin was nearly a third his height wide at the shoulders and dominated the terrain. Without turning he responded.

*"What does Mother Russia need of her son?"

*"To attack. They are not to move a single inch closer, comrade. We-you are to crush them. Here, now. Comrade Stalin wants them pushed back. He wants you to show them Mother Russia is an unrelenting force. That you are unrelenting. Unstoppable."

*"Then we shall. They stop here. Let us show them the way home." Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin said with the resolve of steel. He looked over his shoulder at the man for the first time. He was scared and probably away from his own collective farm for the first time. Piotr even thought the man may have been used to warmer climates or at least warmer attire. Even had he been as vulnerable as flesh and blood Piotr wouldn't have noticed the cold on the outskirts of Moscow. He was from Siberia, after all.

*"Worry not, I shall go myself. Instruct the General to hold all our forces unless they begin to slip past me. I intend to make a point." What he didn't tell the soldier was he was queasy at the idea of taking a life, let alone the hundreds if not thousands he was about to. He was not a soldier. He was a farmer and an artist. He would have been in the boy's spot if not for his abilities. When the government came they had heard he may have been…special. They asked to see what he was capable of. They made him an exception for him. They wanted him to march into Moscow himself. Piotr was of course the good Soviet. He did what he was told, never complaining, never slowing down. He did as he was told. In return he would be a hero of the Soviet Union. His family would enjoy favor with Comrade Stalin.

Piotr let his long coat slide off his enormous frame revealing bare arms that looked like solid steel. As he shrugged the coat to his right hand he tossed it to the soldier. He pulled the cold weather trooper's cap from his scalp. These were mere regulation, they provided no comfort. Again he threw the cap at the boy. His close cropped hair was made of steel as well. He turned and revealed that the rumors were true and he was indeed a giant made of indestructible metal. The boy's eyes widened. He could not believe what he saw. Piotr stood there in his black tunic, buttoned up the front, in silence. A thick black belt held his regulations slacks fast, again in black, which terminated in his combat boots. A single splash of color, a red sickle and hammer, resided small on the upper left portion of his chest.

*"Y-you are going now, comrade Rasputin?"

Resolved crossed the man's face as he turned, preparing to head out and punish the invaders. Before he took a mighty leap forward he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

*"Colossus. Call me Colossus."

A/N: * From the Russian


	2. The Devil Comes to Play

Chapter II

The Devil Comes to Play

12 November, 1943

"They always fight. It never matters." He mumbled to himself as he stared out the window, molten orange mist escaping his lips. The view from his comfortable home in Berlin was swallowed up by darkness and bitter cold. He loved the winter. He still did despite his time in Stalingrad. He had been the one to bring victory to the Fatherland.

Lying across his desk was a message, orders from Der Fuhrer. He sighed as he turned and took a sip of his coffee, still steaming in the chill of his home. He settled down with a book to do some light reading before he was to disembark the next day. He nestled his reading glasses at the bridge of his nose and got comfortable. His country needed him and he was to be off again. He thought, no he _hoped_ he would no longer be needed. This is rarely the case for a soldier though, certainly not during war time.

As he began skimming the pages he already knew he wouldn't absorb anything from the book. His mind was outside Moscow. He was to report there by the end of the week. Something terrible had happened yesterday. His orders informed him that a single man had nearly single handedly stopped the German advance. This was hard to believe, but then, so was his existence.

It was odd to him that the very same qualities that made him an outcast as a child were helping his country today. At the ripe old age of twenty-two he was old for a soldier; however those years hidden away in the monastery like an animal felt like they'd happened yesterday. Quite to the contrary he was a national hero now. Were he a drinking man he would never have had to pay for a drink again.

He thought back to how he had come to be in his current situation, how he found himself in Der Fuhrer's good graces. The Bishop had come to their tiny monastery in Witzeldorf in January 1942 and asked specifically for "Brother Wagner." This was odd since he had never had contact with visitors or officials. He was brought into the library to talk with the Bishop.

"Brother Wagner, we live in trying times," the bishop began ambiguously.

"Yes," Kurt Wagner replied carefully from beneath the hood of his robe.

"And you would do anything to help the Catholic Church?"

"Of course, I've dedicated my life to God. Whatever is asked of me I would do without question."

With his reply they Bishop leaned forward and folded his hands together. The look on his face suggested a great weight had just been lifted. The man looked far more relaxed now as he began talking again, "Good. I've been told you have certain…talents. Is this true, Brother?" The Bishop eyed Kurt inquisitively.

"Your Excellency, I'm not sure I understand. I'm just a deformed wretch of a man whose appearance mimics the devil himself," Kurt said, afraid to reveal too much of himself.

"You are too modest! Please, be honest with me. We are in the house of the Lord, are we not, Brother Wagner?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. We are. You are right, I am sorry I was nervous. I hope you can understand I am not used to anyone but my Brothers," Kurt said, feeling quite abashed. "I am a talented acrobat. My strength has been described as above average by my Brothers."

"Surely there is more," the Bishop looked to Kurt knowingly.

"Excellency, my other…talents, I am embarrassed by them. I feel like they may come from a dark place…"

"Nonsense, you are as the Lord intended you to be. You should be proud of what the Lord has done for you."

Kurt was rather taken aback. He had always been ashamed of himself…of what he was capable of. "Do you really believe this was God's will, Excellency?" The sound of hope crept into Kurt's voice.

"I am a man of the cloth, I would not lie. Now please, tell me of your remaining talents."

"I do not understand how they work, Excellency. All I know is that these are truly things I can do." Kurt steeled himself for what could be a brutal backlash to his honesty. "I can…for lack of a better word, melt into the shadows. I can move between them. I have not tried this ability many times. It scares me to be honest."

"Go on, son," the Bishop encouraged, wonder sparkling in his eyes, his mouth half parted as though he were a hungry man looking at a feast.

"The walls. I can walk on them. Well…not so much walk as crawl. On the ceiling too."

"Tell me, son, is there anything else you can do?" the Bishop asked, the excitement in his voice was evident. He did not even try to hide it.

"There is one other thing. If…if I think of a place I would like to be, if I have seen it before…I need only picture it in my mind and I can be there in an instant," Kurt said, laying all the cards on the table. One would think sharing all his secrets with the clergy would ease his troubled mind, but it was quite the opposite. He felt ill and sweat glistened against his dark blue indigo fur. His three fingered hands worked themselves into fists and trembled. He could feel moisture gathering just below his molten orange eyes. His breathing became more ragged. His long, muscular forked tail flicked out for the first time, twitching nervously. He seemed to shrink back physically further into his hood.

"Show me," the Bishop whispered.

"Excellency, I am not even worthy to be in your presence…"

"Nonsense! My son you are a master piece of the Lord's hands! You were created specifically for what comes next! Please, show me of what you speak."

Without a word, but a "BAMF" Kurt disappeared in a swirl of molten orange light and smoke, the smell of brimstone hung in the air. An audible "BAMF" broke the stunned Bishop's concentration on the spot Kurt used to reside. The Bishop looked directly above him to find Kurt hanging from a beam by his tail. Without so much as a gust of wind Kurt flung himself at the ceiling and stuck to it. He crawled towards one of the shadows a bookcase cast. He melted into it and reappeared in the shadow of his original chair. The Bishop starred at the spot Kurt disappeared.

"Excellency," Kurt said softly.

The Bishop nearly jumped out of his skin. He was pale white and covered in a thin sheen of what Kurt could only guess was a cold sweat. "Brother Wagner, the Church would have you serve our country. A man of you…talents is needed, desperately. Please, go to Berlin. Take this with you; it is the address of the building you are to report to. Will you do this, Brother?" the Bishop was talking very quickly. He seemed overjoyed and terrified at the same time.

"If the Lord wills it…"

"He does, Brother Wagner. He does."

"Then I will."

The sound of distant thunder woke Kurt. He had fallen asleep. Snow was falling very fast outside. Thunder snow, this was an uncommon occurrence. Kurt wondered if it meant something significant was going to happen during his time in Russia.

**A/N: From the German**


	3. The Battle Joined

Chapter III

The Battle Joined

11 November, 1943

Moscow

Within the day the Socialists had pushed the Fascists from the border of their capital, Moskva. It had been fast, intense fighting. When Colossus had landed just behind the German lines there had been mass confusion. A man literally fell from the sky and began a direct assault of their armor: barehanded. Turrets were liberated from their homes within tank chassis. Panzers and Tigers alike were torn asunder. Men ran in all directions, whole trucks were used as projectiles at weapons caches and motor pools. Oddly the man who was single handedly taking apart their ability to make war was ignoring the men around him. He didn't even acknowledge their presence, instead opting to concentrate on their equipment.

Not even fire from the Germans would bring the man to turn his head. If you could call him a man, Colossus was barely twenty. It was a full ten minutes before the Nazis could even muster any kind of organized resistance. When they did organize, however, it was very obvious. At once the impacts on his body went from stray shots from rifles and pistols to massive impacts from heavy machine gun fire and even grenades. He looked to his right, the direction of the incoming fire. He looked back to his left and grabbed a half track and threw it in their direction, stopping just short of crushing the men, sending them scattered. He looked satisfied as the Lieutenant who was directing the fire was also seen running in the opposite direction.

Then he heard a call from the opposite direction. What the steel Soviet saw would have made any man's blood ran cold. Not this man, pure energy now ran through his veins. He stared them down coldly as the remaining Panzers and Tigers leveled their guns. A Tiger II lead the group. The Tiger II's commander had rallied the rest of the men and had brought their weapons to bear on the seemingly invincible man. Now the Nazi Captain sneered and yelled, "Kaminfeure!"

The sound was deafening to anyone within a five mile radius. Six Nazi tanks firing simultaneously was an awesome thing to witness. All the while machine guns atop the tanks were firing for all they were worth in the same direction. "Feuereinstellung!" was shouted over and over until the last gun fell silent. A single volley had been fired from the tanks, it was the over enthusiastic machine guns that needed to be silenced. The Nazi Captain wanted to see the smoke clear; he wanted to see that he was going to be the hero of the day. As the wind drifted in and stole the smoke from all but the lowest lying areas the results were seen. Multiple craters in a small area were the affect on the terrain.

Now it was the Germans' turn for icy veins: out of the smoke the dull glint of metal was seen. Out of the ashes and destruction the seven and a half foot tall Russian looked at the invaders coolly. With a charge he roared, *"GET OUT OF MY COUNTRY!" He ran straight towards the Tiger II and with a mighty step mounted the front of the vehicle, smashing the shape of his boot into the tanks armor. With his upper body exposed, courtesy of Nazi fire, Colossus gripped the main cannon of the tank while the Captain ducked into the vehicle. A private manning the MG42 on the Tiger II fired away as Colossus almost effortlessly removed the turret from the vehicle. With a mighty heave he threw it directly at a Panzer not twenty feet away, nearly cleaving it in half.

Piotr leaned down into the Tiger and pulled the Captain out by his throat. He stood up straight, atop the remains of the Tiger while the surrounding Germans watched in awe, frozen in place while they watched the fate of their Captain. This didn't keep them from training their rifles and sidearms on the Soviet. Piotr pulled the man in close, his legs dangling as the clutched the Russian's arm. *"Did you hear me, Fascist? Leave this place, leave the Motherland alone. I do not want to hurt anyone, but that does not mean I _will not_." The Captain looked into the cold, dead, steel eyes that looked right into his soul, unblinking. Tears came to the German's eyes. He began waving his hand at the surrounding troops, waving them to retreat.

Without a care Piotr dropped the man unceremoniously into the snow. He ran to the nearest Panzer and climbed aboard. He began frantically shouting orders to the surrounding men. "Rückzug, schnell!" he yelled over and over. A flurry of activity saw the tanks retreat from their forward position back to the main force some miles away. With their retreat the infantry and support troops quickly followed: armor was their backbone, without armor they were nothing. Colossus stood alone while he watched their retreat. The subzero winds whipped around his body, the tattered remains of his shirt flapping. It was particularly cold this year. He was sure this helped the Fascists make their decision.

The Germans, however, were not prepared to concede the hard fought ground just yet. Soon the whistles of artillery shells screamed from over head. They had decided on bombardment as soon as the troops were clear. Without flinching Piotr looked up at the latest attempt to kill him today. He had killed no Germans yet. He frowned. He was a farmer and an aspiring artist, he knew only of growing life and creating art. Destruction and death were truly the opposite not only of how he was raised, but his very nature. His mother oft referred to him as "The Gentle Giant."

He closed his eyes as the shells came in. Miles away the main Soviet force watched in awe. They had seen a single man do what the concentrated force of the Red Army had been unable to do for years. They found pride that this man, this near god-like figure had come from their own country. But now they saw him stand stock still while the artillery came. He was engulfed in fire and shrapnel, smoke and upset earth. He disappeared from their view. The Soviet General in charge of defending Moskva decided to help out the National Hero. He called in their artillery. It took a few moments before the Soviets could get their artillery moved up far enough to reach the Germans, a few minutes more to dial in the coordinates.

Seven miles away the German artillery was snuffed out in an instant. The first casualties of the day as Piotr had left the Fascists unharmed. The guns were all silent now. The Germans were caught unaware as Colossus had caused tunnel vision. They'd almost completely forgotten that the Red Army sat waiting as well. They paid for it. The Germans were in full retreat. Tula was going to be their next stand.

Colossus stood alone as a single ZIS-5 came to a stop next to him. Armed troops poured out the back while the General hopped down from the cab. He strode up to the now naked metal man. *"Extraordinary showing, comrade!" he said, slapping the enormous man on the back, stinging his hand. He shook it as he pulled it back. Piotr's skin was warm to the touch. The artillery had done nothing more than warm his body.

*"Thank you, General. Those men, the Fascists manning the artillery, are they…"

*"Dead! Erased from the face of the earth! You gave us that ability, Comrade Rasputin!" the General shouted, elated.

Colossus was not happy to hear this. But he had protected Mother Russia. He had killed no one directly. His actions did help to kill men, though. This troubled him greatly. He turned to the General. *"Sir, can I have some clothes?"

*"Anything you wish!" he turned and shouted, "a blanket for Comrade Rasputin! Now!" He turned back to Colossus, *"We have no clothes for you here, but we can protect your modestly. Come, to the truck."

Colossus understood why they didn't bring a smaller vehicle now. He climbed into the truck and bowed his head. They started off for the main force in Moskva. *"What now, General?"

*"Now, tovarisch, now we go to Tula. We will liberate the Armory. Our Army desperately needs their Mosin Nagants. Are you ready to clear the path there?"

*"I am ready for whatever the Motherland needs."

**A/N:**

**Moskva: Russian for Moscow**

**Tovarisch: Russian for Friend**

**Kaminfeure: German for Open Fire**

**Feuereinstellung: German for Cease Fire**

**Rückzug, schnell: German for Retreat, now **

**Originally this was going to go into Tula and its liberation and the first meeting of Kurt and Piotr, but I wanted to get something out. The next chapter will be a week or two. I'm grateful to see people reading my work. **


	4. Unstoppable Force, Untouchable Object

Chapter IV

Unstoppable Force, Untouchable Object

15 November, 1944

Tula

The odd man took a deep breath of the freezing air. He exhaled molten orange vapors. He had not been here in a very long time. Not that he had ever been to this exact location. He just had not been to Russia since his role in the war had drawn to a close. He _thought_ it had drawn to a close. Clearly his presence here showed he had jumped the gun. He pulled the coat tighter around him while he pulled his service cap lower over his brow. He appeared as though he were trying to disappear into his own jacket.

The cold. That had been the worst part of this Gott forsaken land. Everything seemed to instantly freeze. He knew that this was only the beginning. The cold would creep in soon, less than a month away and the weather would be far worse than this. He could not get his head around the idea of a people who not only endured this, but _thrived_ on it. He thought for sure that people of such constitution could not be defeated. He had shown that to be wrong personally.

Stalingrad had been the turning point. The Soviets had made it the last barrier of defense for their beloved Moscow. When Stalingrad fell the next target would be Moscow. So it seemed. What actually happened still had taken ages since the Soviets fought tooth and nail with the help of their winter. The summer had seen them advance much easier but still it could only be described as a meat grinder.

Stalingrad was where he was told the Lord needed him. The Fuhrer needed him there. Kurt did not look at Adolf Hitler as some messiah but he believed the Lord wanted him to follow this "Fuhrer." When he arrived at Stalingrad he was asked to stay by a radio. Slowly reports began to come in of sniper fire. Screams of dying men were asking for salvation. Kurt knew this was his calling. He would get street names and look at a map, then look out the window at the surrounding city. He had been set up in the tallest building available. With this he had enough information to find the area in which he was needed. He would find himself in the shadows on the side of a building if he could manage it. From there he would creep silently until he could see the buildings described by the pinned down men. The next part he had to steel himself against, every time. He carried with him two officer's sabers. Kurt used these to silence the enemy snipers. He only let one man go…

Kurt shook his head. He needed to be here and now. He stood at the gates of Tula. He squinted out against the grey sky and the white ground. Perfectly silhouetted was a single man clad in black. He walked through a graveyard of grey giants, the burned out hulks of Fascist and Socialist tanks alike. So this would be their battle field. The dark furred man felt remorse for what he was going to do. He always did. This was what the Lord required of him though. This was going to be nothing more than violence. There would be blood.

Piotr weaved his way through the old tanks. The Nazi's had not bothered to move them from their spots. They instead preferred to leave them as a reminder to the remaining people that the Red Army was an ineffective, outdated weapon in this new war. He was here to show them how wrong they were. He could see the small city was still in ruins. Smoke rose from what he hoped were fire places and wood stoves. He hoped the Nazis had not been too harsh to the innocent people living there. He couldn't ignore the fact that all the factory workers and their families lived in this small city. Many Nazis would not be sympathetic at all to the people who built arms to kill their countrymen, even if they were the invaders.

Colossus was here to wrest control of the city from the fascists and to ensure the safety of the armory. The goal was to get the Mosin Nagants and SVT's back on the front lines. There were far too few rifles to go around and even more of Mother Russia's greatest sons fell because of it. No longer would he allow this to happen. His countrymen would be properly armed. He heard of the tragedies that had happened thus far.

Just ahead of him he heard a sound. The best way to describe it was "bamf." He squint his eyes as he thought he'd seen movement on the tank ahead of him, but the area was bathed in shadows. He shook his head and continued his advance. He heard the noise again directly in front of him. This time he could at least associate it with some movement. There was a gust of orange smoke and an acrid smell in the air. He frowned. The sounds began to move around even more, surrounding him. Occasionally he would see a dark form leaping, flipping, or even crawling between, around, and on top of tanks. He had had enough.

He stopped and looked around him. The noise had ceased. *"Show yourself, coward!" he bellowed. His steel-like lungs added extra force and authority to his command. The tank next to him was engulfed in a great orange smoke. The "bamf" came again, much louder this time. The smoke dissipated almost instantly, though a low cloud had begun to hang around the area. He knew the noise and the ethereal mists around him were linked. This didn't really matter as the Panzer had clearly been relocated. Its location was a bit more worrisome. Or it least it would have been to anyone else. Colossus looked up.

The sound wasn't heard so much as the very ground vibrated for miles. The tank had been taken a mile, straight up. Directly above Piotr. It had reached terminal velocity rather quickly and collided with the ground at immense speed, transferring massive amounts of energy to the metal man. Slung low on the end of a tank's cannon Kurt Wagner, the Nightcrawler, looked on with a look that almost suggested curiosity. The reports said this man tore through tanks like paper. He was almost certain that this would not kill the Soviet. He waited just a moment. The wind blew through his hair, partially obscuring his face. Orange mist escaped his lips. His own black, red, and white uniform was held fast at the waist by a wide belt with a handsome brass buckle. His trousers were white, tucked into blacked boots trimmed in red. The boots held snug to his three toed feet, giving him maximum dexterity, more like leather socks than shoes really. His coat was white as well, a red cuff around his upper harm held the swastika on a white field. Kurt's black button up beneath the jacket set ablaze by red buttons. His hands were also encased in tight, black leather gloves.

After that moment had passed the tank was torn in half by a man. No, a Colossus. The man stood amongst the rubble and stared down the indigo furred man before him. There were no words, just the turret of the aforementioned tank being hurled at the demon before him. It was thrown so hard, in fact, that the sound barrier was broken. The crash was tremendous; a shockwave blossomed from the impact zone and rustled Colossus' clothing. He wore a grim expression. Piotr had not wanted to kill the man; he had never wanted to kill anyone. He knew, however, that this was indeed the Butcher of Stalingrad. He was the reason their country had been so nearly lost. This was the man he had been brought to kill. Now he could merely lead the march…

A series of fast impacts reported from the back of Piotr's head. He felt them as a dull tapping. He turned, curious, to see the man hunched behind him holding swords. Colossus smirked. This was ludicrous; this man thought that this would hurt him. He had just dropped a tank on him and somehow he thought swords would hurt him? He actually began to chuckle.

"Don't you laugh at me! The will of the Lord guides my hand!" With this Nightcrawler charged at Colossus and disappeared in acrid smoke and a bamf just before he reached the steel man. He reappeared with a great kick at the Soviet man's face. "Ach! Mein Gott!" Nightcrawler shouted as he landed in a crumpled heap just to the side of the larger man.

*"Tovarisch, did you really think that would work? You really are being quit ignorant about this." Colossus said, still chuckling. This served to only anger Nightcrawler more. He jumped at the man and landed on his midsection. The extra weight did not sway Colossus a bit. With his feet firmly attached he began hacking at the larger man's face to no avail. After a few quick shots to the face Colossus grabbed Nightcrawler by the neck and brought him close to his face. *"You do not have to die here today, but you do have to leave. You will take your forces and you will leave this place. You and your kind will leave Mother Russia, and then you will lose this war. Do you understand?"

*"I do speak Russian, monster. But I will not leave and this war will not be lost. God gives us the strength we need. God wants this to succeed. The Thousand Year Reich will prevail!" With this Nightcrawler was gone again, leaving behind amber smoke and a surprised Soviet.

Nightcrawler crawled into an open tank hatch. Looking for something…there! He clutched his prize and teleported out. He reappeared above Colossus and dropped his surprise, quickly teleporting again to land a safe distance away. His idea may prove fruitful but dangerous if he were too close.

Colossus looked up and saw something dark right before it hit his face. The battery shattered on his face, acid went everywhere. It popped and bubbled ineffectually against his skin, his clothes simmered and smoked where the acid landed. His eyes…his eyes! They burned! Never had he felt pain at all in his armored form! He clutched them and started wiping furiously. He began to lash out around him trying to find Nightcrawler. Tanks were moved, crushed, and even tossed as the struck out, blinded. Finally he fell to his knees in the snow. He rubbed his face in the snow, clearing the acid from his eyes. Just as the burning was alleviated he heard the noise again and then a pressure on his back. Nightcrawler sat atop him.

*"My apologies, but this can go no further," with that he teleported the man. Up. Two miles. Then, Nightcrawler released Colossus and let his free fall begin. Before Nightcrawler himself could pick up any speed he teleported back to the frozen earth to watch. Any momentum gained before a teleport would be maintained once a teleport was complete. If he was falling at sixty miles per hour then teleported an inch above the ground he would still impact at sixty miles per hour.

He watched the large man fall from the sky. He almost seemed to float. Kurt felt bad for the man as he watched him rush to meet his shadow. Then, all at once they were one. A great crash and a shockwave accompanied a small mushroom cloud of dirt, snow, and tank parts. Nightcrawler went to inspect the impact zone. What he found was not what he expected. The Soviet, dazed, was already standing. Quickly he teleported forward, grabbed Colossus and whispered, *"I'm sorry, forgive me, Lord." With that he teleported Colossus while he rode atop his shoulder. Their teleport complete Colossus looked down. Nightcrawler had teleported him into the middle of a tank. The armor appearing to bisect his body.


	5. Retreat, Hell!

Chapter V

Retreat, Hell!

15 November, 1944

Tula

Piotr looked down at his body, stunned. He was unsure of what to do next. He did the only thing he could think of: he pushed down on the tank near his waist. It was at this point he noticed the rippled armor. He slid upward, not a bit of damage done to his body. He pulled himself out of the tank. The armor had been displaced around his body, the same way water makes way for a swimmer's body. He was unsure if this was a result of the teleportation or a property of his steel form. Either way the fight was not done yet.

The snow crunched under his boots. Nightcrawler looked at Colossus, dumbfounded. *"How is it…how is it possible?! Anything I've done would have killed a man a dozen times over?!" he nearly raged at the seemingly unstoppable man.

*"I was born this way, comrade. Much the way you were, I would imagine."

*"You can be defeated! I know it!" With that Nightcrawler was gone it a flourish of orange smoke. He reappeared miles away at the front lines of Tula, surprising a sentry. "I need this!" he stated with authority snatching a potato masher from the startled soldier. Again he was gone in a puff of ethereal smoke reappearing again the same way behind the behemoth in a crouch. *"If your outside is unable to be injured…" he trailed off. Colossus walked among the tanks searching for Nightcrawler, the whole time being followed by the man. Kurt crawled along the ground, over and under the tanks. He reached up to grab the handle of a hatch to pull himself up and he crawled along, looking for the ambush point. The hatch door slammed open. Nightcrawler quickly slid inside to avoid detection. Colossus' head shot in the direction of the tank. He walked over to it, carefully. He ducked his head inside to look. The German was nowhere to be found. There were many shadows in the interior.

While Colossus searched the interior a tail snaked its way over his shoulder and around his neck. His head was jerked back suddenly; he tried to look over his shoulder. He saw the Nazi's face close to his. He hissed, *"perhaps your insides are not quite so bullet proof." With that Nightcrawler stuffed the grenade into the Soviet's mouth and he launched himself away with a mighty kick. He summersaulted back wards and landed on all fours roughly twenty feet away, half concealed behind the blown off turret of an unlucky Soviet KV1. Before his landing completed, he was hit with the shockwave of the grenade.

His ears rang and his inner ear was assailed by pressure waves and sounds far louder than he was used to. Dizzy he watched as the Russian was obscured by the dust and snow thrown up by the grenade. He had won, he had finally done it, he was sure of it. There was no way that kind of explosion inside the mouth did _not_ kill the man. That must have been it; that was how the Lord had provided for his vict…

With a roar that echoed for a mile Colossus charged out of the small debris cloud, straight at the rusting hulk Nightcrawler was using for cover. Nightcrawler pushed off from the tank weakly, but the explosion had taken its toll on him. His acrobatics were compromised. He landed in a heap on his side. The Russian grabbed the KV1 and lifted it over his head. Nightcrawler couldn't believe it. Such strength he didn't believe could exist within one man. The tank was tossed aside. Without words Colossus grabbed the front of Nightcrawler's jacket and hoisted him up. Cold, unblinking eyes looked into the burning orange of his own. Fear was all he could feel. Before he could even try to arrange a coherent teleportation Colossus back handed him. Hard. At least it seemed hard to him. He heard his jaw snap shut and was pretty sure something broke. He sailed through the air thirty feet and impacted the frozen earth face first. He tried to push of the ground but just collapsed back down. All he could see were stars. Suddenly he was in the air again. He looked at the emotionless expression staring back at him. Suddenly and quite quickly he was thrown through the air again.

The trip was much shorter. Colossus had thrown him straight down. Nightcrawler rolled onto his side and coughed. Blood spattered the ground in front of him, staining the snow. His nose ran free with blood as well. His forehead was split. He was fairly sure ribs were cracked. Colossus just stood above him, waiting. Nightcrawler grabbed the Russian's pants leg and began pulling himself up. Next was his belt, and finally the Nazi pulled his way up the Socialist's shirt until he was standing. He looked into the Russian's eyes. There was something different this time. His expression had softened. He looked like he was wracked with guilt and regret. Kurt got the impression he had never so much as hit a man before.

*"Leave." Colossus said. It was not a question.

The response was not a verbal one, but it was received loud and clear. Nightcrawler spit in the man's face. Blood and saliva spattered across Colossus' face. Suddenly he didn't look so full of regret. He grabbed the much smaller man's shoulder and held him at arms length. With his right hand he made a fist, and slammed the German's midsection with the force of a jack hammer. Nightcrawler found himself flying through the air again. This time a burned out Panther stopped his flight. Once again he was lifted, by his throat this time. He was brought very close to Piotr's face this time.

*"I will not ask so gently again, comrade," Piotr said, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his free hand.

*"At this point, mein freund, you may have left me with little choice," Kurt nearly choked on his words. This was only partially due to the internal bleeding.

*"Good. Do not return. You are not welcome here. Take your forces with you. Retreat would be in your best interests, I assure you. Otherwise I will go into the city and personally see each and every Nazi expelled. Do you understand?"

*"I do. We will leave. But," he stopped for a slight coughing fit, "the next time we meet, I will kill you. And we will meet again."

*"I am afraid you are right, comrade. I would rather we met once I have ended this war and peace can exist between our countries, but we can not choose our destiny, no?"

*"Nein, we can not. Only the Lord can choose." With that the brutalized Nazi vanished in a puff of orange smoke and one last "bamf." Colossus looked towards the gates of the city. He saw the man reappear and stand. He immediately collapsed and several soldiers ran forward to hoist him up. Colossus stood there and watched for another hour, unmoving. Suddenly the whole city seemed to come alive. Diesel engines started, puffs of black smoke could be seen emitting from their stacks and flapper valves danced up and down. The soldiers were moving quickly to pack up. The message had been delivered. He would personally oversee the withdrawal. He strutted towards the city.

He walked into Tula as a liberator. His hands held out to his sides, palm out to let the Nazi's know he did not want to fight, merely oversee their expulsion. Once they were gone he would let the General know. He had no interest in seeing any retreating men slaughtered. He walked up to a trembling soldier, his shadow completely covering the man. The man merely pointed to a tent. Colossus furrowed his brow. *"Do you speak Russian?" The man seemed to nearly jump out of his skin.

*"Little," he said in a thick German accent.

*"The man I fought, will he live?" The response was quiet and reverent.

"Ja."

That was all he needed. He would go back and wait at the entrance to the city. He would give them the time they needed to leave. He hoped he wouldn't regret it later.

* * *

"Just what the hell do ya think ya were doing out there, Stark?!" a very upset Benjamin J. Grimm said, cigar hanging from his mouth, to a very unconcerned Tony Stark.

"A test flight. I would think you of all people would know what that was, Colonel Grimm. You are a test pilot after all, aren't you?" Tony said, never once looking away from his chest plate.

"I know what the hell it was! Yer timin' and location couldn't have been worse ya bucket of bolts! Divin' into the middle of a formation a green horns behind the stick on a new batch of Mustangs was dangerous, dammit! They don't have the trainin' or the reflexes of an old hand! You coulda killed them and you with all that buzzin' of the formation! That doesn't include going after them individually once the formation broke, you lunk head!" the veins were standing out on Grimm's forehead.

"My seventeen degrees do tend to disagree with your evaluation of my mental faculties but to be honest ten of those degrees were from bottom of the Ivy League barrel so maybe you're right." Tony said, still working the bolts loose to free his torso.

"You know good 'n damn well I'm right! Now get out of that doohickey and tell me you won't be doin' that again, shell-head!"

"Again with the name calling, Colonel, do you need a hug?" Stark said as he looked up for the first time. "Just take a breath and realize I'm trying to get out of this thing but honestly I may be one too many scotches in to do this properly. Lets see if I can hurry this along. JARVIS!" Stark yelled to a closed door.

"Yes?" a young Englishman said, poking his head through the door.

"Will you give me a hand?"

"Honestly, sir, you shouldn't be drinking while you work."

"Honestly, Jarvis you're no fun. You're like an old man. What are your plans when all this is over? Are you going to be a butler? Are you going to butle?"

"Jarvis, I know the RAF assigned you to be his handler, that doesn't mean his dad blamed assistant. Matter-o-fact he's supposed to be answerin' ta you!" Grimm said, exasperated.

"Grimm, please, don't go and get him confused by telling him the truth. I've spent a lot of time getting him to this point don't ruin it for me."

"Cripes, Jarvis, you KNOW you have to keep him under your thumb." Grimm said, slapping his forehead.

"Col. Grimm, you supervise Stark your way and I'll supervise him mine," Jarvis said as he worked quickly with an impact gun to remove the remaining bolts on Stark's chest.

"Ya aren't supervising him at all! If ya were I wouldn't have flight officer's lined up to get their shorts cleaned!" Grimm was back to yelling.

"You know your Brooklyn accent actually gets worse when you're mad?" Stark said as he knocked back a shot.

"Not another word from you, Stark, please. At this point I'd rather take a Sopwith Camel after the whole damned Luftwaffe!"

"Wow, I'm honored…"

"Stark!"

"Sorry, sorry… I'll just be stripping off this armor…"

"Jarvis, not again! Understood! Those planes are very expensive, the men irreplaceable, got it!? I don't wanna hafta write any letters to their mommies because of training accidents, understood!?" Grimm didn't wait for an answer before he turned on his heel and left.

"Well he seemed mad."

"Tony, please. They dragged me away from the SAS to watch 'that American drunkard and see if he can expedite the end of the war.' Please make it worth it. I was doing a lot of good on out there. Make this the greater good. Now, I'm going to go and try to assuage Colonel Grimm's worries. Please, excuse me." With that Jarvis left. Tony sat quietly, finishing the removal of his boots. He just a guy enjoying the high life back home, he surely wasn't used to the level of responsibility expected of him here.

He took the criticism in fantastic stride. He looked at it as a small child being reprimanded would. He was indignant and blamed Grimm for not making sure the pilots were trained better. After all it couldn't be his fault. He was Tony Stark.

A/N: I'm thrilled so many are reading. We'll be exploring farther into the universe now and seeing an expanded look at the war, but we aren't done with our favorite X-Men either. I was glad to read the review and as you see I've done two updates this week so I'm still writing. Review if you'd like and certainly feel free to follow the story.


	6. Men of Science

Chapter VI

Men of Science

15 November, 1944

Portsmouth, England

Dr. Bruce Banner sighed and gripped the bridge of his nose. He'd been listening to Tony Stark rail for fifteen minutes about the importance of his tests and how justified he was in conducting them in the manner he had. Grimm was oafish and not tactful in the least but the man was right. Stark couldn't go about diving into the middle of formations and upsetting new pilots. It could make them jumpy in real combat. They needed their heads about them. Feeling a jolt in their aircraft and looking back to see a man in a suit of armor riding their Mustang like a horse bareback was not what these men needed. They didn't even know about his suit for God's sakes.

"So clearly you see my point, Dr. Banner," Stark finally calling Bruce by name to get a word out of the man.

"Shouldn't you be far more worried about the sticking stabilizers?" Banner said, redirecting the young genius.

"Helluva thing, Bruce, I don't know what is causing it. The mechanisms perform flawlessly in the lab. I don't know why the actuators are freezing up," Stark said, honestly bewildered.

Bruce walked over to the suit of armor, hanging from the ceiling by chains. He looked closely at the hydraulic piston assembly. He ran his fingers over it and pulled it away and sniffed the fluid that coated the area.

"Diesel?"

"Yeah, rather ingenious isn't it? It's in ready supply no matter where I am so repairs on the fly shouldn't be too difficult."

"Yeah, but what altitudes are you reaching? Where are you seeing the problem?" Banner asked.

"Well, the altimeter is kind of hard to see…"

"How high, Tony?"

"Forty-Thousand," Tony said quickly.

"Feet?! Tony are you mad?! It's more than forty degrees below zero! Diesel starts gelling at roughly ten below! This isn't going to work. We need to start looking at purpose hydraulic fluids in ready quantities."

"It doesn't exist. I mean where am I going to find hydraulic fluid in the middle of a large scale battle or bombed out town? It not like…transmissions!"

"Come again?" Banner asked, totally lost.

"What do automatic transmissions use for lubrication and as a hydraulic fluid?"

"Transmission oil, at least on the GM built tanks," Banner said, putting the pieces together.

"Exactly, I may not enjoy quite the widespread availability but it's the best I can manage now," Tony said, pulling lines to be replaced.

"You know, I think you have something there. But just for insurance purposes I think you need to route them near, not through, your engine," Banner said, offering profound advice.

"You're probably right. Can't hurt, and it wouldn't be the first time you pulled my fat out of the fryer," Tony said.

"Tony, look, you don't have to…" Bruce began.

"Bruce, we both know I'd be dead if it weren't for you. Honestly it's been weighing on me. That's why I'm here, right now. If you hadn't been there in China…"

"We shouldn't have been there at all. _You_ shouldn't have been there. But-but I was chasing Betty, and… and you said, _you said_ you couldn't let me go alone! Why didn't you let me go alone, Tony? You should have let me go alone…" Bruce sputtered out, on the verge of a break down.

"Look, buddy, I'm thanking you. Not another man on the face of this earth could have done what you did," Tony said gratefully.

Bruce just looked guilty. "It was my fault, and you did most of the hard work, the fuel source… that's all I did…" Bruce said, feeling wholly unworthy of the taller man's kind words. "And damn near get you blown up…"

"I'm glad I was there, I'm glad I pushed you out of the way," Tony's fingers found their way to his chest for the first time since the conversation started. Fingers brushed against hidden scar tissue and steel. "This forged me into the kind of man that can help the world, so I've brought you along for the ride. The future holds great things for you, Dr. Banner. Incredible things."

Bruce shook his head and quietly mumbled to himself, "I'm Frankenstein, and you are my monster…"

"I heard that. I'm far more handsome and we both know it. Besides didn't that film feature a much taller and more handsome Dr. Frankenstein?" Tony joked. "Hang around a bit longer, maybe we don't play the parts you think we do at all."

"If there's one thing I know it's that I'm always right, no matter how much I want to be wrong."

"You're hands down the most vain man I've ever met, and coming from me that's saying something." Tony tapped his fingers against the lump in his chest, "This? You hear this? This is keeping my ticker going. It also has a fuel source powerful enough to power that hunk of junk for four lifetimes," he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder towards the armor. "This is a gift."

"That's a band aid for a grievous injury I caused you. One that will have to remain in place until science can fix what I've destroyed," Banner said mournfully.

"Dear God, that's it, I've got to get you laid. This self loathing just will not do." At this Banner started shaking his head no. "A drink. Come on for the love of all that's holy get a drink with me! You have _got_ to loosen up." Banner kept shaking his head, more fervently now. "How about a little ride to the countryside then? That seems more your speed. Those other things, that's me, not you. Come on, we'll go steal a Jeep." Tony said, putting his arm around Bruce's shoulders.

As Tony had talked Bruce only shook his head harder back and forth. When Tony placed his arm on Bruce he finally pushed the taller man back. "No! For God's sake no! Tony, you have to grow the hell up! You almost died!"

"But I didn't…"

"Shut up!" Tony recoiled. Bruce was mad. He'd never experienced it before and he certainly didn't like it. "This isn't a joke anymore! The Nazi's, the Japs, and the Italians are here to take over! No more trust fund playboy! Don't you see what irresponsibility gets you?!"

"Shrapnel?" Tony joked.

"No you fantastic, moronic, genius. It gets your best friend shrapnel, and that's the worst thing that can happen. You get someone else hurt. Don't be me, Tony. Be better."

"Come on, you're great! You just let this build up and…"

"I have to go," Bruce cut him off. "Albert asked for my help. Los Alamos. They've been working on splitting the atom. This is right up my alley. Helping you with this suit, Tony I'm not a mechanical engineer. We both know that. This is your thing. Thanks for bringing me along, but what they're doing out there, if it works we can end the war in a day."

Tony looked a little sad. Bruce had been his best friend since they roomed together at Empire State. They hadn't been apart more than two weeks since then. "Is this about Betty?"

"General Ross is at Los Alamos, but no, Betty is far away. She's teaching on the East Coast. This is about the war. It's my duty."

"Ok, buddy. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Be careful. Keep your head down and don't get crazy. We both know what can happen with that stuff. Big boom. Don't go and get yourself blown up. I'm going to be pissed if I got this gamma pacemaker for nothing."

"That's not funny, but I'll be careful. What's the worst that could happen?"

16 November, 1944

Portsmouth, England

Forty thousand feet and fifteen percent power, hot breath warmed his face. His own heavy breathing pounded in his ears. Behind that was the constant, powerful roar of the gamma powered engines Bruce Banner had helped design. He would never admit it to anyone else but this felt claustrophobic. Hot and claustrophobic, in fact so much so that he always had a little tumbler of scotch before he bolted himself in.

The stabilizers were performing perfectly. The transmission oil had proven more resistant to the cold and Bruce's heating solution added reliability. For what he was about to attempt he needed that reliability.

Bruce was on the ground waiting for what was supposed to be the first attempt at accelerating past the speed of sound. Man had never done it. Now right here Tony Stark was going to prove that America could touch the Nazi's anywhere, even in their Me262's. Tony brought his left forearm before his faceplate. Forty thousand two hundred sixty seven feet and five hundred miles per hour, it was time. He twisted the dial on his wrist controls. Thrust increased to twenty percent.

The g's made him feel like pooling up in his boots, but the man refused to back down. The world became hazy in front of him. It looked like his lenses were fogging up, but that wasn't the case as they used the engine to heat the suit. This was happening outside and in front of the suit. He pulled his forearm before him with minimal effort. Airspeed had increased to six hundred miles per hour and still climbing. He put his arm back at his side. His armor began to experience turbulence. All at once his vision was completely obscured by the white haze, and then was gone as fast as it had come.

"Helluva thunderclap, Mr. Stark," Bruce's voice crackled in his ears.

"Was that it? Did we do it?" Tony asked.

"You did it, Tony. Now get down here and see me off."

"Okay, okay, he's fast and bullet proof. I'll use him, okay?" Ben Grimm said, exasperated, as he threw his hands in the air.

"You'll be very pleased I think, Col. Grimm," Jarvis said with a smile.

Grimm walked away mumbling as he lit his cigar and jumped in a Jeep. Jarvis turned to scan the sky with Bruce to try to find Tony. His engines roared louder as he neared. Almost as if by divine delivery Iron Man landed before them on one knee, one fist in the ground and another behind him. Tony stood up and took a step across the airfield towards the two men.

"Well?" He asked expectantly, his voice faintly metallic and distorted by the helmet.

"You'll get your shot at the 262's, but you'll have to ride in on one of the bombers. We don't want them getting a look at you. Surprise is the greatest advantage in war." Jarvis said.

"Fine, fine, now get the can opener and get me out."

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoyed this installment. Please feel free to let me know what you think. Excelsior. **


End file.
